Man in the Hall
by Earc MacFithil
Summary: Arthur suddenly finds himself in a strange land... again.


**Title**: Man in the Hall

**Author**: Earc MacFithil

**Rating**: K

**Fandom**: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

**Summary**: _Arthur suddenly finds himself in a strange land... again_. 1494 words.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the characters; I'm just having some unprofitable fun.

**Notes**: For Shotaphile in the Yuletide 2008 challenge.

* * *

Arthur awoke with a splitting headache. He opened his eyes, but that only made the headache worse. He closed them again, lest his head explode. While he wasn't sure such an explosion would actually take place, he was equally unsure of its structural integrity. If there was one thing he'd learned since leaving Earth, it was that the Universe was a strange enough place that the unlikely was, in fact, no such thing. The pain slowly receded until he felt it was safe to once again attempt opening his eyes.

It was bright-very bright. It was so bright it hurt his eyes, which he immediately shut again for fear that the headache would return. He repeated this several times until he had just about acclimated. The brightness persisted and although it no longer hurt, it was still difficult to see. He tried to get up, but found his limbs surprisingly unresponsive, as though he'd imbibed a great deal of alcohol. He had, of course, done no such thing in quite a while. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, he'd recovered enough to sit up. He was surrounded by a vague, general near-whiteness that was almost a mist, but was unlike any mist he had previously encountered. He reached down to help himself off the ground and touched something somewhere between sand and dust, then rose shakily to his feet. He looked around futilely, wholly unable to see much of anything, and felt the now all-too-familiar shroud of total disorientation fall about his senses like heavy snowfall.

As he wondered what to do now, he suddenly felt a slight chill in the air. Then he heard, faintly at first and then growing steadily louder, the sound of horse's hooves approaching at what he figured to be a relaxed, but still resolute, pace. Well, it sure sounded like a horse. For all he knew, it could be some terrible beast bent on devouring him. At least that would put an end to all this ceaseless wandering about the Universe... probably.

At length, two figures emerged from the mist. They appeared to be men, both of impressive stature. They sat regally astride great steeds, dressed head-to-toe in furs and armor. An odd tingle ran down his spine and Arthur at once felt intrigued and terrified. The two men rode right up to him and stopped, looming over him. Although they were back-lit, making the details hazy, he could nevertheless see them better now. One had flaming red hair and a strange gleam in his eyes. The other was fair-haired. Both had long beards and large horns protruding from their helms. They sat there, looking down at him, which didn't help his nerves one bit.

"Er... hello?" said Arthur uneasily.

The two looked at each other and then back at Arthur.

"Hello." The babelfish still in Arthur's ear translated as usual, but still he could tell that it wasn't English. It did, however, sound oddly familiar, like something he vaguely remembered from school.

"What is your name?" said one. Arthur thought it sounded a little like Norwegian. His instinct told him this was highly improbable, maybe even impossible. His experience told him otherwise.

"Arthur," he said sheepishly, "Arthur Dent." Despite all he'd seen and endured as of late, he still had not acquired much confidence. It was as though the Universe was conspiring to keep him permanently off-guard.

The two men again turned toward each other and conversed at length in their language. This time, to Arthur's surprise, the babelfish did not translate. After several minutes, they turned back to him.

"You will come with us." At that, one reached down, grabbed Arthur, and lifted him effortlessly into the air and onto the horse behind him. "Hold on."

With no further warning, they broke into a gallop and sped off through the mist. They hurtled across what Arthur supposed passed for the countryside at what felt like a nearly-impossible pace. He was unsure how long they were at it, but it must have been hours. What manner of horse could perform like this he really didn't know. The light around him remained constant and he wondered if the sun-if there was only one-ever set on this world. Just when he didn't think he could hold on much longer, their pace slowed. He saw before him some kind of castle. They rode up to the gates, which spontaneously opened. They were met by two men of smaller stature and of more plain dress. Arthur was plucked abruptly from the horse and deposited unceremoniously onto the ground.

"You will go with them," the one horseman said, indicating the two other men. They turned and rode deeper into the castle. The two lesser men turned and walked briskly in another direction, with Arthur scurrying after them. He was led down a series of corridors and was soon certain that he'd never be able to find his way out on his own. At length, they emerged into a much larger corridor at the end of which was a set of large doors. On the lintel was carved what appeared to be Norse runes. He'd never learned to read them and so had no idea what they said, if that's indeed what they were. The great doors opened and he was lead into a great hall. It was full of people apparently in the midst of a great feast and Arthur was suddenly aware that he was famished. He was led to a place at a table near the other end of the hall.

"Eat," one of the men said, and then both left him. He didn't need to be told twice. He fell upon the food before him like a starving, rabid wolf. He ate what he'd usually consider to be an ungodly amount of food. While his hunger was satisfied, he didn't seem to feel stuffed like he'd have expected. Something in hid peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned to see, much to his surprise, a familiar face. It was Ford! "Ford!" he exclaimed. "Yes?" said Ford. "What are you doing here?" "What do you mean?" "Last time I saw you..." he trailed off, noticing a look of puzzlement on Ford's face. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean," said Ford. This did not bode well. Arthur did not have time to dwell on it, for the noise in the hall seemed to die down and another man stepped to the head of the hall and announced something in their language. At once, several grand persons entered the hall. All rose to their feet and gave them reverence. Ford leaned over and muttered to Arthur. "Whatever you do, don't make these guys angry. You wouldn't like them when they're angry. Just go along with... well... whatever it is with which they might ask you go go along." Arthur recognized two of them as the horsemen who brought him here. They took their places at a table at the head of the hall, with the two horsemen at their center. One made another proclamation in their language and a great cheer went up from the hall. Then he turned toward Arthur.

"Arthur, come forward!" he commanded.

Arthur sat there, suddenly afraid. The horseman repeated himself more forcefully. Ford nudged him. "That would be you, wouldn't it? I'd go up there if I were you." Arthur got up and shuffled toward the high table with much trepidation.

"You are Arthur, the Toothed One, are you not?"

"Um... Arthur Dent, if you please."

"You are Arthur the Toothed One. I am Thor, Supreme Commander of Thrudheim. This is Odin, Lord of Valhalla," he said, then indicating the other horseman. Arthur began to understand why his babelfish seemed to be having trouble. It wasn't that he believed that these people were actually gods, at least not in the way that his own distant ancestors had believed such things. Still, they clearly had unusual abilities. He had no idea who they thought he was, but he decided to play along. He didn't think it would end well, but was probably no worse of an idea than denying his supposed identity.

"I am him," said Arthur in the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster.

"Then you know why you're here," said Thor.

"Er... actually, I haven't the slightest," admitted Arthur.

"You are here because you are the many greats grandnephew of Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons."

This did not bode well. Arthur remembered his grandfather telling him that they were distantly descended from that family. But since no one had ever been able to prove that King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table had even actually existed, much less been related to any particular family in Britain, noble or not, it had remained merely a family legend. Arthur was now convinced that he was the right person, but that this was entirely the wrong universe.

-x-


End file.
